


BadassLongcoat

by subtropicalStenella



Series: Playing the Long Game [1]
Category: Star Wars: A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 03:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtropicalStenella/pseuds/subtropicalStenella
Summary: Kanan has a Badass Longcoat in New Dawn, according to illustrations.https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/e/ee/SloaneKanan.png/revision/latest?cb=20140918020723How'd he lose it?





	BadassLongcoat

The cargo bay of the Ghost was eight and a half steps across. She already knew this. So why is she still counting while she paces?

Because  _ Jarrus  _ was supposed to be back  _ three hours ago.  _ Because this was a  _ mistake. _

He'd been  _ fine _ on all their other jobs together--keyword  _ together:  _ this was the first time they'd had to split up and something had gone wrong. He'd run into trouble or a drink or a whore or a card game and now  _ she  _ was standing around with a lek up her ass waiting on him.

… maybe she should go find him?

 

“ _ Honey, I'm ho-oome!”  _ through the ship's comm.

 

On second thought it had been kinda nice to have the Ghost all to herself and Chopper again.

But her  _ shipment.  _ Ugh.

 

She slaps the rear hatch open receive it, and instead finds:

A very dirty, very bloody, very  _ shirtless _ Kanan Jarrus, sporting a split, fat lip and another Human slung over his shoulders. The other one is smaller, skinnier, with bright orange hair and a lot of tattoos, his wrists and ankles tied up with both their belts.

And no cargo.

 

“Where’s my cargo?” she demands, pointedly ignoring the fact apparently that his loose, baggy sweaters hid all of...that.

“Aw, I missed you too, sweetness,” Kanan drawls, grinning lazily despite the blood dripping down his chin, darkening his goatee. He bumps one shoulder, jostling  _ his  _ cargo, who groans. “Meet my new friend Jack. Say hello, buddy.”

Another groan.

She cocks an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Cargo. Now."

“That's what he's here for. See, once he comes to, he's going to tell us  _ all about  _ where the Black Sun have taken our shipment,” Jarrus growls, and reaches up to slap the other Human’s cheek a little too hard to be friendly. “Ain'tcha, Jackie-boy?”

 

Black Sun?  _ Black Sun _ took her shipment?! That's why he's late?! He was shaking down gangsters for the last  _ three hours _ for her?  _ Alone?! _

 

“Oh.”

 

She steps aside to let him in, let him sling the gangster--another Sun, one of the many tattoos on his bare arms was their Sign--into the cargo hatch ladder, and strap his hands behind him, around the ladder pole. Jarrus  _ groans  _ as he stands back up, a hand to his lower back, where a large, dark bruise is already blooming. One of several.  _ Damn. _

“Bacta?” she asks, trying not to sound as guilty as she feels for misjudging him.

“ _ Please _ ,” he says, and starts up the ladder.

“Where's your coat?” she asks, following him up.

“Lost it in the bar fight,” he grunts, opening the kitchen door.

 

Drinking  _ and  _ trouble.

 

“And your shirt? Your sweater?

“Lost both of them in the pazaak game before the bar fight. Won the coat back, at least until that fucking bastard whatever the fuck it was spit acid all over it,” he grumbles, sitting down on the counter while she gets a bag of ice from the chiller and the medkit

 

And a card game.

 

Ugh, he's getting blood and mud and what might be the contents of a  _ dumpster _ on her counter. Maybe she  _ hadn't  _ misjudged him.

“Why are you  _ bleeding  _ so badly?”

Besides the split lip and the road rash, one side of his chest is  _ soaked _ , enough that her rag is turning rusty-red already and the fluffy, curly hair on his chest is matted with it.

“Because I lost my piercing in the bar fight too,” he says, wincing when she slaps a bacta patch over the torn skin.

“You have a nipple ring?” she asks incredulously, starting in on the mess crusted under his split lip. It doesn't actually surprise her. That seems like his kind of reckless stupidity.

“Well, not  _ now _ ,” he answers, and hisses when she pulls at his lip, mopping up the blood. It's split on the inner side.

“I can't put bacta on this, it'll need a stitch.”

"Could just kiss it better,” he drawls, smiling--and starting up the bleeding again while she opens a packet of sutures. No, she hadn't misjudged him  _ at all _ . Idiot.

“Mhm, bloody and fresh out of the trash compactor, how  _ can  _ I resist? _ ”  _ she deadpans, and hooks the tiny needle through the split in his lip. He huffs a short, pained breath out his nose but otherwise keeps perfectly still while she knots off the stitch, clips the slack. 

 

… Still, he  _ did _ take on Black Sun for her. 

 

She carefully puts the scissors down, then leans in until the stitch prickles against her top lip, the drying blood tacky as she gently brushes her mouth over the hurt.

He's completely frozen when she sits back, staring at her with wide, shocked eyes. He stays that way while she packs up the medkit.

She drops the condensation-wet bag of ice in his lap before he can get any bright ideas, and he yelps indignantly.

 

“Hit the fresher before you turn in,” she says, tucking the medkit away without looking at him and sauntering out of the kitchen. “You  _ reek  _ and we have a big day tomorrow.” She's not about to let him go alone again.

  
Huh. Still quiet. Guess that's one way to shut him up.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Glass Half-Something](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911076) by [TheAshla (cannedpeaches)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannedpeaches/pseuds/TheAshla)




End file.
